


Men of Fortune

by The_Quartermasters



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Historical, Church Sex, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4928638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Quartermasters/pseuds/The_Quartermasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the canon feudal alternate universe, Grand Jipangu, wandering monk Zoro and sushi chef Sanji take a morning stroll to say some prayers, get their fortunes and have hot steamy sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Men of Fortune

Summary from August 2009

Title: Men of Fortune  
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji  
Rating: NC-17  
Timeline: Grand Jipangu, just after Christmas  
Comments: If you keep up with the One Piece anime, you may be familiar with this canon parallel world which takes place in a feudal Japan-like setting. We're more enamored with Grand Jipangu more than we probably aught to be and were stupidly excited when two new episodes (406 and 407) recently came out. :D 

This bit of writing was something of a warm up for us. Zoro and Sanji haven't yet interracted much in this setting, partly because Zoro's pretty much always off on his own. When they do cross paths, they defintely don't have the same nasty rivalry and in fact the first time we see them really do much, they're sharing sake cheerfully. These most recent episodes gave us a smidgeon more and offered a little sniping but their relations are definitely more good natured than normal Zoro and Sanji. So we played with these versions of the boys a little back in May to help us shift from the fluffy, gooey, snuggly happy Zuko/Sokka and Gokudera/Tsuna that we've had on our palate for the last couple years.

We also did some SERIOUS WEABOO research for writing this bullshit. We know there are going to be some horrifyingly glaring mistakes in our use of psuedo-Japanese culture and pseudo-shintoism. If anyone knows more about this than we do and sees anything that screams innacuracy, please drop us a line! n_n;;

 

Fakey-Mc-Fake-san's Vocabulary Lesson  
Oyabun: Boss. This is what Luffy's called here.  
Bou: Priest  
kanpai: cheers, toast  
torii: gate commonly found at the entry to a Shinto shrine  
itamae: sushi chef  
haori: shirt  
geta: sandals  
kami: god  
kasa: straw traveling hat, worn by monks for the purpose of blocking out the world outside their path  
fundoshi: underwear  
tamagoyako: Japanese omlette

 

It was early morning then, though the sun wasn't yet out, and the restaurant was quiet but for the snoring of their Oyabun and company. Sanji was the only one awake, cursed with the habit of rising before dawn to begin breakfast. Still, giving the celebrations of the night before, it was unlikely anyone -even Oyabun- would be waking soon. So the chef sighed as he surveyed the damage, calculated just how long he should let the boys sleep before demanding they wake and clean up, then slipped into the kitchen to pack a bit of tobacco into his pipe. No one stirred as he tiptoed back across the floor, sparing a fond glance for the disheveled red-head who was drooling onto the little doctor's stomach. 

With equal stealth he slid open the front door and sneaked outside, finally striking a spark and puffing the dried leaves to a glowing ember, sighing contentedly as the smoke spiraled from his lips into the chill morning air.

It was after a moment of blessed smoke that he noticed a strange, quiet noise -- like rocks clattering together softly. When he turned his head toward the blind spot his hair created, it was only then that he noticed the errant priest sitting on the ground beside the door, peppered liberally with snow. The only thing keeping him from snoring loudly was the violent chatter of his teeth.

For a long moment, the young chef just stared, smoke leaking from his mouth in disbelief. Then he squatted beside the man, frowning, and poked him in the cheek with a slender finger. "O-oi, kuso Bou-san. Oi."

Zoro frowned, still shivering. Then he scowled. And then, without opening his eyes or apparently waking, he hit Sanji on the head with the staff still in his grip.

"H-hey!" The chef nearly forgot himself and the still slumbering people inside, only just managing to drop his voice to an indignant huff. This didn't, however, stop him from from snapping out a short --but relatively gentle-- kick that rocked the man's shoulder and sent the pile of snow tumbling from his grass-green head. 

That managed to wake Zoro thoroughly, who blinked twice before toppling into the snow. Then in a flurry of flakes, he surged to his feet with a snarl.  
"Oi--sushiyaro! What the hell is wrong with you?!" 

"Me?" Sanji choked, teeth grinding hard on the mouth piece of his pipe. "You're the one who thumped me with that shitty bo! And keep it down! The others are still sleeping." 

"Eh?" The priest looked at him suspiciously but interrupted his own thoughts a moment later. A violent shiver ripped its way through his whole frame from his bare, purple toes to his frosted-grass hair and the last bits of clinging snow showered around his frame. He grimaced. "Hm. Pretty cold." 

"Hn." The fight drained from the chef's limbs fairly quickly, replaced by an exasperated weariness. "I suppose that's what happens when you sleep out in the snow." A sigh. "Come on, we can go around the back to the kitchen. Don't touch anything and you can sit by the stove." 

Zoro's eyes silently watched him pass, snow crunching under the chef's toes. He followed though, shivering without complaint. In spite of his stoic expression, the monk couldn't help but sigh when Sanji let him in and warm air made it to his pinkened cheeks and nose. He left his bo by the door and was careful not to disturb anything as he followed the slighter man into what he was sure was a sacred place to these people. 

"Here." With one foot, Sanji nudged a small cushion over to the shivering man, caught his eyes and nodded. "You can sit there." He turned then, bending at the waist to rummage through a nearby cupboard, tapping a toe on the floor as he searched. 

A deeper, pleased sigh escaped Zoro's lungs as he sank down near the warm stove. Not that he couldn't endure the temperature -- this was just nicer. For a moment he closed his eyes and tucked his hands in his sleeves, moving his toes until feeling returned. When he opened them again, it was difficult not to notice the view he'd been given in the dim lamplight, but he didn't say anything just yet. 

"Ah, there we go." Sanji straightened again, this time with a dusty glass bottle, sealed shut and unlabeled. He turned a grin on the traveling priest and cocked his head to the side. "Does your way prohibit the pleasures of drink?" 

"Yes," Zoro replied, an elbow resting on knee and cheekbone against knuckles. "But that's never stopped me." 

Sanji chuckled, shaking his head, but then, he'd never been a particularly religious man, so he couldn't see that it was his place to judge. "Good. Then maybe you can appreciate this." A moment later, the sake was settled into a pot of water and placed on the cooking surface of the squat little stove, and the chef had settled nearby, cross-legged, to wait. 

"Mm," Zoro agreed with an appreciative grin as he watched. "That woman won't go after you?" 

"Onami-san?" Sanji spared a glance in the direction of the front room, where the woman was, undoubtedly, still sleeping with the others. He smiled. "I would never dare to use anything belonging to her without permission. This bottle, however, is mine." A pause. "Besides, isn't it good for one's soul to make offerings to traveling priests?" 

A grin found its way across Zoro's face where sun-darkened color was beginning to replace the pale and flush of cold. "I suppose it is," he replied with a faint nod. "Good for the soul or not, your hospitality is appreciated." 

"Well," the chef shrugged, taking another long drag from his slender pipe. "We've got a reputation to keep up here at this restaurant. A monk went and died on our front step? Terrible for business." Though the words seemed insensitive, Sanji's eyes sparked with easy humor. 

The priest chuckled, a low, rumbling sound and ran a hand through his short hair to shake free some of the melted snow. "It would take a lot more than that to kill me. But I have a feeling if either of those two 'officers' had found me, they would have claimed me dead at first sight." 

"Nah," Sanji answered, standing once more with a groan and a stretch, and wandered back to the counter to pull down two cups. He caught the priest's eye and tossed one over. "They would have stuck a jitte up your nose and held your eyelids open first. Just to make sure." 

Though his hands were wide and rough, the monk caught the cup with a surprising deftness and even a certain delicacy. "They would have gotten more than a thwack on the head." If Sanji looked closely, there might have been an apology there. 

"Mm." And if Zoro looked closely, there was an acceptance of his apology in the sound. The sake heated, Sanji brought it over on a tray, carefully filled the priest's cup and offered it to him to do the same. 

And he easily did so before lifting his own, carefully balanced with thumb and forefinger. "And what would you drink to?" 

"I suppose we already did plenty of Christmas kanpai last night... perhaps this one should be to... spiritual enlightenment. May we all wait as long as possible before leaving earthly pleasure behind to achieve it." He held up his cup with a grin. 

Zoro gave a quiet bark of laughter. "I'll drink to that. Kanpai." And with a tiny clink, he skillfully tipped back the shallow dish to let the hot, strong liquid wash down his throat. The burn was like heaven in itself, heating him from the inside and he hissed quietly with delight. "Perfect." He picked up the small bottle to refill Sanji's cup. "And what about you, sashimi-yarou? What's your favorite earthly pleasure binding you to this world?" 

"Are you asking me to choose just one?" The chef laughed, tipped his head in gratitude to the refill and swallowed down his second cup before answering. "Good food, good drink, a beautiful woman, filthy language, sex..." 

The third cup Zoro relaxed and sipped, meanwhile contemplating the chef's words and the fact that beautiful women and sex were apparently in different categories. He considered briefly bringing this to attention but then thought better of it -- that was really too easy, wasn't it? "The owner," he said instead, savoring the warmth of alcohol spreading through him. "She's not your wife then." 

"Ah, does it seem so?" The chef almost sounded pleased, but then he shook his head, a chuckle on his lips. "No, no. Onami-san is a clever and beautiful woman, too independent and lovely to allow herself to be tied down by one man. A shame, perhaps, but then, I think she is much happier being a boss and not a wife." A pause. "I suppose that marriage is another vice a monk like you avoids. Hm?" 

"Mmm," Zoro agreed, easing back to lean against a cabinet. "I prefer vices that don't expect flowers in the morning. I imagine marriage to be more like a stone strapped to your ankle than a thread binding you to worldly being." 

Sanji only shrugged at this, his lips still curved in a smile. "Perhaps. I can't say I won't strap that stone to my ankle one day. In the mean time, though, there's a lot of enjoyment to be had and pleasures to indulge in." 

For a long moment, Zoro just smirked at him over the edge of his sake cup before he finally finished the third round. "When's the last time you visited the temple? Checked in on how your perversions are affecting your kharma lately?" 

Sanji's lips were still touching the rim of the cup in his hand when he blinked and met the priest's eyes. Then he smirked. Just a little. He finished his drink. "Are you worried for the state of my soul?" 

"Not really." The monk shrugged. "More looking for an excuse to get out of here for a while." 

The chef considered this, glancing briefly toward the front. He didn't honestly believe any of the others would be waking soon, not after the late hour to which they'd stayed awake and the large amounts of food and alcohol consumed. He could still be back in time to make breakfast. And stretching his legs could be a good thing. He shrugged. "Fair enough. I'll tag along. It's been a while since I paid my respects at the temple." 

Zoro flashed a sliver of a grin but said nothing more, only rose and waited for Sanji to put the sake away. When they stepped out the back door again, it was still dark and the sky softly roiled with clouds. A very light snow was falling, the airy flakes floating softly to the white and nearly untouched ground. They followed their footprints back to the street again and Zoro let Sanji lead the way, admitting that he himself hadn't yet been to the town's temple. 

Sanji didn't seem bothered by this knowledge, made no ribbing remarks, only lead on until the temple came into view, curved roof white with packed snow, the compound silent, empty of visitors. "Here it is." The chef stepped up to the front entrance turned a circle and shrugged. "Welcome home, kuso-bou." 

The wanderer only chuckled, looking briefly over the torii that greeted them outside the temple, etched with the scars of coins that would soon be added to with the new year approaching. "Want to know your fortune, sushiyaro?" 

"Is that a specialty of yours?" 

"Che." But completely stone-faced, Zoro reached with one cold hand to take Sanji's chin and looked deep into his eyes, as though peering into his very soul. "Yeah. I see that you're a cocky, stubborn asshole who's gonna get in plenty of fights." He released the other man with a smirk and turned toward the temple, his bo adding a third footprint to his gait as he climbed the snow dusted steps. 

He turned too quickly to see the chef's startled blinking or the pink that washed across his nose, but he felt the kick that caught him in the back of the knee. "Very funny, jackass." 

Zoro snickered but didn't lash back, only peering from the corner of his eye to see the smile that the chef surely thought he was hiding. When they reached the front of the temple where snowflakes clung to tiny pieces of parchment tied to the trees standing guard on the path, Zoro casually approached the closed cabinet that was to the side, opened it and rummaged inside. A moment later he returned to Sanji's side and handed him a tiny, rolled piece of paper. "Here." 

The cook raised a thin brow, shared a glance with the priest, then rolled the paper between his thumb and finger, not yet opening it. "I thought I was supposed to choose my own. Do you even know the traditions of your own faith?" 

The monk just shrugged. 

A chuckle slipped from Sanji's lips at this, and he shook his head, adding a roll of eyes for good measure. Then he unrolled the paper and held it up to the moonlight. "'You will meet a tall, dark, mossy stranger who will drink your booze and test your faith.' Hmm." 

Zoro frowned at him seriously. "It doesn't say that." 

"How do you know?" 

"There's not enough room!" 

"Maybe it's very very small script!" 

"I know enough that it doesn't say that, baka-itamae! Give it--" 

"No way! It's my fortune. You don't get to read it!" The chef twisted out of Zoro's reach, waving the fortune high, then tucking it away in the folds of his haori. 

"Oi!" For a moment, Zoro seemed genuinely disappointed but then he snatched up the front of Sanji's haori, reeling him close with concocted menace. "I picked it out -- it's like both our fortune. Show it." 

"You got your own!" Sanji protested, sticking out his tongue but not bothering to pull away. "... Read yours first, aho." 

Zoro growled at him but with his hand still holding the other's shirt, he lifted his free hand to unroll his own fortune with a thumb. He looked at it briefly and shrugged, unimpressed. "Same one I always get." He held up the tiny slip which was painted with blood-red ink. 'Dai-kyo', it read, indicating a great curse. And secondarily, 'tabitachi', referring to travel. 

Sanji frowned. "That's the fortune you always get? I should have guessed you were the kind of guy who goes looking for trouble." 

"Usually it's trouble that comes looking for me. Or I happen across it. Like you." He paused for a significant moment and then glanced at the fortune and shrugged. "I think it also might be kami trying to convince me to stop traveling and being a monk." He laughed, crumpled up the fortune and tucked it in his robes. 

Sanji gave a start. "Aren't you going to tie it to the tree?" 

Zoro shrugged and released the chef's haori. "I never said I didn't *want* trouble to find me." 

For a long moment Sanji only blinked, then finally he shook his head. "Heh." Before Zoro could say anything else, the chef had taken a step closer, so that they were almost touching. He reached into the front of his own tunic and pulled free the curled paper that had his own fortune. "Don't you want to see this one? You did pick it first, after all." 

"Ah?" Zoro did his very best not to appear interested when he glanced at Sanji's hand. It was made easier when distracted by his proximity. 

"Dai-kichi," Sanji grinned. The extreme opposite of the monk's ill fortune. "A little strange to see it paired with 'arasoigoto', I admit... but I'd like to think it just means I'll be getting my way in any... near-future disputes." 

"Oi," Zoro protested flatly. "I'm the one that pulled it, remember." 

"Mm hm." Sanji moved away then, back on the path to the doors, feet padding quietly up the steps. "But you gave it to me." 

"Don't you think that means I'm gonna let you win anything," the priest warned as he trailed Sanji, his own sandals clacking quietly as they met the wood. 

"I'd kick your ass if you tried to 'let' me win anything." With a pointed glance, Sanji slipped inside the temple, stepping from the chill outside to the large inner public room, not much warmer but free from the chill breeze once Zoro had slid the door closed behind him. 

Zoro breathed the lingering smell of incense and set his bo by the door. Then with a tug, he slid his kasa free and set the hat and also his beads down. 

Sanji watched this process, then looked up to meet Zoro's eyes, no longer hidden in the shadow of his kasa. "Aren't you supposed to keep it on? You know, to avoid the sight of worldly temptations?" 

"Mm," Zoro agreed. The shrine wasn't a large one but a small sacred fire burned near the far end of the open room, offering a tiny bit of trapped warmth. The light flickered in Zoro's dark eyes as he came to a stop before Sanji. "If I wanted to avoid that sight." 

"Ah right, the traveling monk who doesn't visit temples and indulges in alcohol and vulgarity... I shouldn't be surprised." A pause; the chef turned to face him, features lit and flickering in the fire's glow. "Well? Is it worth bending your vows for?" His voice was low, a rumble in his chest, his visible eye bright and he replaced the slender pipe between his lips, pulling the smoke into his mouth for just a moment before he let it pour out slowly, a swirling upward spill of grey. 

"Don't know yet," Zoro replied. And brazenly a hand reached for the chef, sliding under his haori at the shoulder and drawing him close enough that Sanji had to shift his pipe to the side while his free fingers curled in the front of the other man's shirt. He watched Sanji's face with a devilish little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That's yet to be seen." 

"Mm, well, I should warn you. I got a great fortune today." With one last drag on the pipe, Sanji pulled at the priest's robes, closing the remaining distance between them with a kiss that dispelled all remaining ambiguity in the moment. 

While Zoro himself didn't indulge in tobacco, he wasn't adverse to it -- and particularly not when it was just another flavor in the myriad of temptation on Sanji's tongue, swirling with voice and mouth and alcohol. His hand closed on the back of the chef's slender neck, greedily parting his lips to breathe it all in and let it guide his tongue forward when it swirled back. 

The chef hummed with pleasure, his own grip tightening briefly as the kiss deepened before slipping both hands under the folds of Zoro's robes, searching for skin and happily finding it beneath exploratory fingers. "How many of your rules do you think we can break before breakfast?" 

"I can think of at least six we're breaking right now," Zoro rumbled back, his grin a gleam before he was dragging Sanji's mouth back to his. He caught the chef's lower lip in his teeth and bit before crushing their lips together. He grabbed for the other's belt, though not quite ready to tear it off, he rather used it to reel the other in closer, nearly flush in spite of layers of formal clothing. 

When they broke apart for breath, neither went far, noses still brushing, breath still shared, panting, between them. "Six? That's nothing. I'll show you at least ten." A pause, for the chef's hands to wander lower, pushing Zoro's robes loose, revealing the bare and scarred chest before him. "If you think you can handle me." 

"I think I can," Zoro replied with a smirk. “But I like a challenge.” Before they could get any father though, he tugged Sanji toward the corner of the room where a pillar provided shadow and the tiniest sliver of privacy were some wayward citizen come to make prayers in the pre-dawn darkness. It was also a nice surface to press the chef up against when Zoro ducked in to taste his throat with rough, hungry lips. 

"Nnh, shit.... kuso-bou... you that needy for attention?" The chef's words were combative but his hands were greedy, splaying wide over Zoro's chest, sliding around to grip at his waist, to pull him close, to feel his weight pressing the slender man into the pillar. 

Zoro was only too ready to provide, pressing Sanji's frame tight to the polished wood. Hip to hip, chest to chest, mouth to mouth -- far too intimate for two who were all but strangers. But with the tension finally snapped between them, it was all Zoro could do not to drag him down to the floor straight away. Clothes were already coming off as he tongued, bit at the blonde's ear, searching for the tie in his sash and forcing them to press tighter together with arms around the chef. 

"Oi, oi," the chef breathed, voice husky and distracted. "Hold on, before I burn a hole through your robes with this thing." He held up the pipe, raising a brow, even as his nails scraped up the back of Zoro's head. He looked around quickly, frowning, until he spotted the nearest incense burner, it's metal cold, the incense inside not yet lit. "Ah." It was as good a place as any to leave his pipe for the moment, and safer than setting it aside to be rolled over onto later or set fire to the tatami. "Now, where were we?" 

"Just about..." And finally the knot in the small of Sanji's back came free and his belt felt to the floor. "Here." With his haori free, Zoro's hands slid underneath and further, beneath the thin shirt below that to finally find skin. The monk's hands were rough, travel worn with the callouses of bo and katana. He wasted no time in reeling Sanji close again with those hands on his back and his taut stomach, never hesitating even when one slid higher to rub, then pinch at a nipple stiff with cold and arousal. He watched Sanji closely, a breath from his lips and for one supposed to be enlightened and philanthropic, he had a very dark and predatory gleam in his eyes. 

"What's your poison, bou-san?" the chef murmured, meeting that dark gaze with a knowing grin. "Something in particular you haven't indulged in lately?" He hummed, arching into the man's touch, his own hands loosening the cords around the priest's waist, letting them fall to the floor with a quiet thump. 

"Mm... I wouldn't know about such things..." Zoro chuckled quietly, hand moving lower, lower until his palm slid over the front of Sanji's trousers and the forming hardness. The heel of his palm rubbed along it, encouraging it to life. "I'm just a simple priest." 

"Oh, is that so?" the chef chuckled lightly, fingers seeking out, finding the hard muscle of Zoro's backside, giving it a squeeze. "Maybe you should sit down then. Let me show you a few of those things you don't know much about." 

It was an easy matter to switch their places and slide lower, Zoro's feet between Sanji's as he coaxed the other man down with him. "Show me, ero-itamae," he purred, a hand fisted in the chef's undershirt. 

"Whatever you say, bou-chan," Sanji teased, but shook out of the man's hold, standing again to shed more of his clothing until he stood there bare from the waist down, the blue haori still hanging loose from his shoulders. With his trousers gone, there was nothing to hide his arousal or the way it stood nearly upright, flushed and hard. "Take it out," he growled, stepping close, lifting a bare foot to rub at the evident bulge beneath the priest's robes. 

Though the low, demanding words made Zoro's fingers itch to drag the man down to the tatami and smother him, he controlled himself. Instead he arched his hips once into Sanji's foot before tossing aside his robes. It was a simple enough thing to untwist the appropriate places in his fundoshi until the fabric fell away. Slumped slightly against the pillar, he watched Sanji as he gave a single stroke to the full hardness that rested against his stomach. 

A sound of approval slipped from the chef's lips, his eyes grazing over Zoro's form in the dim light. "Impressive," he hummed, though it was impossible to tell if the sentiment was sincere or teasing. "Here, use this." Sanji pulled a small jar from the loose sleeve of his haori, uncorked it and dipped a pair of fingers in it before handing it over to Zoro. Then he settled himself between the monk's legs and leaned back on one arm to spread his knees wide. With slickened fingers he reached between them, caught Zoro's eyes and held them as he began to prepare himself. "Don't worry –nnh... Even if it's your first time, I know what I'm doing." 

A smirk threatened at the corner of Zoro's mouth but he gave no smart comment back, perhaps only because he was too distracted with watching the chef. He spilled some of the slick oil over his own fingers and recorked the bottle with his free hand while the other took up his arousal. His chin tilted just so as he stroked himself slowly, shoulders pressed back against the solidarity of the pillar. "You certainly are... prepared," he murmured before a deep breath. His hand went to Sanji's hip, rubbing there as he watched and stroked with perfect, slow control. The burn in his eyes was enough to let Sanji know he was hoping this wouldn't take long. 

Sanji returned the look, a wry grin dissolving into parted lips and a swallowed sound as his fingers slid from his body. "Can never be too prepared," he countered, already moving forward, near crawling into over the monk's form until both knees rested on either side of Zoro's hips and their foreheads nearly touched. Then, hand still slick, he reached between them to find the other's hand still on his arousal, pushed him away to take it in his own hand and guided him until he was placed just so. "Tell me if you want me to go slower," he purred, and taking a breath, exhaled and sank down. 

Zoro's teeth grit hard, the sensation produced sudden and surprising and it was difficult not to snarl or cry out. He did gasp through his teeth as Sanji's tight heat took him in and his body stiffened, arms snaking around that slender frame. "Nngh..." he groaned, pressing their foreheads together in earnest. He grinned into Sanji's face breathlessly, hips arching up to meet him. "I can keep up." 

"Good," Sanji matched his grin, his arms coming to circle Zoro's shoulders, fingers threading once more through the choppy green hair. "I'd hoped you would." He moved then, strong leg and stomach muscles lifting him nearly free before sinking back again, groaning aloud as he was filled once more. The sounds may have been mostly for the monk's benefit, but the face Sanji wore as he moved seemed too focused to be an act. "Doing alright?" he breathed, a thumb brushing against the drops of gold that hung from Zoro's ear. 

"Don't underestimate me, teme," Zoro growled. Nails scraped up lithe thighs, tanned hips arching to meet him on the downstroke while hands gripped his hips to hold him there for a deep grind that left them both breathless. Then one hand tangled in blond hair, dragging the chef's smoky mouth to his own for rough, biting kisses that dared Sanji to dish his worst and promised to return it two-fold. 

And dish it, he did. With Zoro's challenge issued, the chef seemed to lose any concern he had over being careful, or gentle. He gripped hard at whatever his could, sneered and growled and groaned as he thrust down over and over again, filling himself and stealing the breath from his own lungs. 

For all his stoicism and posturing, the monk was hardly immune to Sanji's temptation, every growl and groan echoed and challenged with a dig of nails or a bite of lip or yank of hips. With his shoulders pressed back against the pillar he had a most excellent view of the chef's lithe body arching over him, just the faintest sheen of sweat glowing in the flicker of firelight. Hair mussed from Zoro's groping hands and haori sliding slowly from his shoulders and cock hard and flushed and dripping. Unquestionably the single most erotic thing the simple priest had seen in his simple life. Smirking, he reached between them for that perfect, firm heat to curl roughened fingers around the other's pleasure, giving him slow, excruciating strokes that dared him to slow the tempo. "Do you treat all out of town visitors so well?" Zoro wondered in a deep, breathy purr as his thumb flicked across a bead of moisture at Sanji's tip. 

"Gods, no!" the chef laughed, moaned, licked at his lips as he took Zoro's challenge, slowing his pace to keep in time with the monk's hand. One palm worked across Zoro's chest, grazing a nipple before tracing the scar that had been hidden beneath fabric. "I'm very particular about-- nngh! Ah... about who I spend my free time with. It's been... a long time since anyone interesting has come to town." 

"Good to know that I'm at least... interesting," Zoro chuckled darkly. His green eyes glowed in the dim light with aroused approval of the pant of Sanji's breath, the shine of his parted lips. Zoro lifted fingers to his own mouth to lick the chef's flavor from his fingertips. 

"That you are." Sanji chuckled, shifted with a moan as he watched Zoro taste him, then curled close to kiss him once more, hard, tongue pushing past his lips before pulling back. "The innocent monk angle helps." 

"I'd hate to be predictable." There was a surge of muscle, a grip of hands and Sanji's knees lost the rough feel of tatami beneath them. Instead it scraped against his back and caught in the fabric of his shirt when Zoro laid him out, somehow managing to never break their unholy union through the shift. Palms thumped down on either side of his head as the monk sank deep, pressing him into the floor with his robes a curtain, a flimsy imitation of privacy, around them. 

The chef tensed only briefly, the scowl on his face quickly dissolving to pleasure as Zoro pressed deep, hot breath washing across his throat. Sanji's legs lifted to circle the monk's waist, his arms thrown up over his head. When he had the breath to speak again, he met Zoro's eyes and smirked. "Seem to know... pretty well what you're doing, bou-san." 

"I know what I want," Zoro corrected and gave something between a growl and a sigh as they shared the new angle. He smothered Sanji's breath with his lips, pressing him hard to the floor as they felt out a new rhythm with slowly rising tempo. Zoro's hands hiked his hips up, bending the chef to his liking, knowing perfectly well just how flexible the other man was. He'd seen him fight, had seen him twist himself in ways downright obscene outside the battlefield. And with a groan that rattled Sanji's bones, he sank to the hilt. As pleasant as it was to have sensation showered upon him, there was just something about *taking* it for himself... and something more about this lean, muscled frame trapped beneath him as he began to thrust in earnest, controlled and powerful movements. It became clear that the moments before had only been a warm up.

Blunt nails scraped up Zoro's arms, across the back of his neck, into his hair, down the curve of his spine. Sanji held nothing back, mouth open and sounds of pleasure, of demand and encouragement fell freely. One heel dug hard into Zoro's tail bone, urging him on. "Come on," he hissed, biting at the monk's ear, sucking a bit of gold between his lips. "Believe me, I won't break." 

"I wouldn't want to leave your imprint in the tatami," Zoro teased breathlessly with a devilish grin but he interrupted himself with a groan when Sanji's yanking heel tugged him deep and rough. "Shit..." He planted his knees firmly and hips jerked, lifting one hand to brace on a pale hip. That he wanted it rough, that he was confident of his limits only made it that much more intoxicating -- he'd assured Sanji that he could take whatever the chef had but that the reverse was also true was the real delight. Zoro's jaw tightened as he laid in to the other in earnest, giving a voiced, shallow breath each time their hips met and he held them there a split second before doing it again and yet again. Tantric. 

Perfect. "Fuck," the chef choked. "Been too long," he gasped. And, "Yeah, like that," he groaned. He talked too much, but how could the priest bring himself to mind? Not when --short minutes later-- those long legs tightened around him, when that smooth jaw tilted back, those blue eyes closed and that vulgar mouth opened again, not to speak but to cry out, slender fingers bruising his shoulders as the chef shook beneath him, on the verge of succumbing to sensation. 

In the silence of the temple before dawn, Zoro's earrings chimed between their breaths and between the low growls of pleasure that answered Sanji's more coherent exclamations. Every word that slipped past the slighter man's teeth seemed to spur Zoro on, the woven floor burning his knees as every thrust grew rougher. He licked the salt from Sanji's jaw, the heat of passion winning out over the chill of the snow outside until skin sheened faintly between them.

"You're good," the chef breathed, a whisper on his tongue, colored by an impatient moan that said he wished they had more time. The sun was creeping, peeking through the trees, casting a pink orange glow on the snow outside. The others back at the restaurant would surely sleep late-- or so they could only hope. "Very good..." Sanji keened, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick skin of Zoro's shoulders. "Soon now..."

The monk could only groan his agreement, one arm snaking under Sanji's neck, bracing beneath him as tempo came more urgently. Zoro bit the inside of his mouth to keep his voice quiet and pressed their temples together, panted breaths mingling as they clung to one another in their clawing toward pleasure. It was, of course, unthinkable blasphemy -- to say nothing of the fact that they were two men, they'd barely met the day before but in passing on Oyabun's mishaps. But under the protecting shield of his kasa, Zoro's eye had been instantly drawn to him -- for his strength and his lithe muscle, the cocky jut of his hip, the smirk of his lips around that pipe. If there really was any sort of deity listening in, he could only thank them that the chef's eye roamed similarly. 

There was a tremble in his limbs, a tightening in his jaw that warned Sanji that his power over the monk was reaching its culmination. And mustering all his focus, Zoro worked a hand between them. His fingers were rough and touch skilled when he took up the blond's dripping arousal and stroked him hard -- just as hard as his own urgent thrusts were, just as tight as Sanji's heat squeezed him as he pressed the other to the tatami with a snarl.

The contact, rough and determined, was more than enough to unravel the last of Sanji's own control. The chef cried out, curling forward to stifle himself in the curve of Zoro's shoulder, nails digging hard, long legs twisting, tangling with the monk's. Strong thighs squeezed bruisingly hard at his hips as the chef came. "Kami-sama!" Sanji wheezed, lips hot against the curve of his ear.

Breath huffed heavily in response, nails digging at the tatami as Zoro rode out his climax -- the grip the chef had on him left him in a tortured place of excruciating pleasure while being unable to finish until that grip eased just a little. And then he sank deep once, twice, Sanji's hot come smearing between them as Zoro covered the chef's mouth with his own. He stifled his own voice as he bucked and spilled deep in that perfect heat still clutching at him, making him shake and squeeze his eyes shut to combat the sparks that filled his vision.

The chef kissed him like that until neither of them could draw a proper breath and their mouths broke away with twin gasps. Then Sanji smiled, the warmth of the morning sun reflected in his one visible eye, and the monk felt the pale, lithe body relax beneath him, knees falling away to either side, a heavy, satisfied sigh easing between faintly swollen lips. "Perhaps I -have- been neglecting my... spiritual health," he murmured, reaching out to run a hand through the short cropped green of Zoro's damp hair. 

Zoro chuckled breathlessly, a low rumbling sound as pleasant exhaustion crept into both their frames. His tattered traveling robes shrouded them, hiding the way they were still joined as Zoro relaxed, his weight settling on that lankier frame with arms bracing around the spill of straw-colored hair. "Glad to offer my services," the monk purred back in the strange, private afterglow that their unusual location provided. 

And then the chef slid both hands above his head, stretched feline-like beneath the monk, back arching as a sigh of pleasure slipped past his lips. "I suppose we should be getting back." A pause, a quiet chuckle. "Before some poor soul arrives to draw his fortune." 

"Mmm." Another pleasant chuckle and Zoro indulged enough to sag in the curve of Sanji's shoulder, offering a light nip to the chef's ear. "Suppose so. I'd hate to cause a crisis of faith for some poor bastard." 

"Mm-hm." A light nudge with one hip set the monk back to sitting and Sanji propped himself up with one arm, tugging his loose haori back onto one shoulder and trying fruitlessly to smooth his mussed hair. "Oyabun will be hungry too, that greedy, bottomless pit..." For a moment, the chef seemed distracted, one palm reaching out to lay against the edge of the great thick scar that tore its way across Zoro's chest. A beat passed and he shook himself, the touch turning to a teasing twist of nipple. "Will you be joining us for breakfast?" 

Zoro growled good naturedly, grabbing Sanji's wrist to give him a push back down to the tatami as he stood. He stepped away to search for his discarded fundoshi and began the process of tying it back into place. "If your Oyabun hasn't eaten everything in the restaurant," he replied. 

The chef chuckled as he retook his own feet and began to make himself presentable once more. "A valid concern," he acknowledged. 

When they were once again fit to be seen in public, despite faintly wrinkled attire, Sanji stooped by the door and passed the monk his kasa. "I feel as though I should pause to clap and bow as we leave," he smirked, paused instead to strike a spark and light the pipe he'd already retrieved. 

Zoro snickered and rapped the other's backside with his bo. "Ero-itamae," he chided as they stepped out into the crisp, cold morning and a shiver worked its way up from his geta. "What's for breakfast?" 

 

When they arrived back at the restaurant, the boys were still snoring on the tables. As they crept in through the front door, both men froze when they felt eyes on them and looked up to find Onami glaring at them from the kitchen with eyes narrowed and tea pot in hand. 

"A-ah--! Onami-dono-swaaan!~" The chef twirled away from the door frame, expertly tiptoeing his way around the sleeping 'patrons', until he came to rest, clutching at the door frame and gazing into the woman's frowning face. "I trust you slept well? Please, let me take that from you. You wanted tea?" 

"Mmmm." Nami's eyes narrowed again, filled with suspicion. From the look of her, she'd only woken a few minutes earlier and may have been slightly hungover. Her accusatory gaze turned across the restaurant to their traveling guest who yawned and flopped into a booth beside Oyabun and was instantly asleep. The young officer flopped over on him and started drooling on his robes. 

"And where were you?" Nami asked, her eyes still on the monk. 

"Ah?" Sanji started, grinning widely as he slid politely past her and into the kitchen to put the tea on the stove. "Oh, I was just showing our guest the way to the temple. The green-haired monk is... surprisingly devout. Ah, but enough about me! What may I prepare for my dear goddess this fine morning?" 

"Hm." She frowned for only a moment longer and then shook herself. "Tamagoyaki. I'm going to go freshen up." 

"Yes of course, Onami-san! It will be my immense and complete pleasure! Please, take your time and look forward to a nourishing and love-filled meal!" Three eggs were already in each hand as the chef twirled happily about the kitchen, not seeming bothered by the fact that the owner didn't give him a second glance as she left the kitchen with two fingers to her temple. 

When Sanji was allowed to take a relieved breath, spared what could have been a grueling interrogation, he glanced across the bar that separated the kitchen from the restaurant. One green eye was cracked and a smug, self-satisfied smirk was cast silently across the room. 

"I hope you like eggs, ero-bou-san," Sanji chuckled, taking a long, calming drag from his pipe. "You might be a priest, but in this restaurant, Onami-san is God." Despite his chiding words, the smile that quirked the chef's lips was relaxed, good-natured. 

Zoro just smirked, electing not to speak up for fear of waking the boys but there was no malice either in his expression. 

The smell of cooking food roused the boys before anything else, Oyabun knocking the monk out of his seat in a fit of zeal when it reached his nose. The restaurant was soon filled with joyful shouts and delicious smells and threats of bodily harm. With a steaming bowl of miso in hand and pleasant, satisfied exhaustion in his frame, Zoro couldn't help but muse that in combination, it was almost enough to make a man hang up his kasa.


End file.
